A mariner, beard white as hoar, Accosted me at the church door... No, not *that* old matelot, His story's old hat, lo, I've told that fool's story before...
In days, when still young and precocious, I tackled such things albatrocious, When I'd time to dally, And rhyme supercalli- Fragilisticexpialidocious.
But now, as a very old man, My wit's gone, I'm failing to scan, My brain cells are crumbling, I'm drooling and mumbling, And scan and rhyme have gone to hell.
You see how this boring preamble, Becoming a tiresome ramble, Must prove beyond doubt That my mind's up the spout, As my grey matter starts to unscramble.
So please gentle reader, reverse, Back to the original verse, That first line or two. And while you so do, I'll go off and fondle my nurse.
This sailor says: "Tids, once I sails, From Swansea, down there in South Wales, We all kiss Myfanwy, The scrubber, and then we Casts off on our venturesome trails."
(At grammar these sailors is dense, And speaks always in present tense, It makes reading hard, So if you'll beg my pard- on, I'll edit the rest, to make sense.)
The ship she was called Mary's Dream, Myfanwy like, broad in the beam, She's rigged fore and aft, With considerable draught, As the wind whistled through every seam.
The helmsman, he aimed it at Dublin, But his eyes, due to booze were a-troublin', So she veered south sou' east, Till the gale at last ceased, But the sea, through the hull, now was bubblin'.
A rock, in the keel a hole tore, And in through that gash sea did pour, They all gave up hope, But our Lem grabbed the soap, And soon washed himself to the shore.
(That joke, has been so long around, It should, like the crew, now be drowned, But ere memories fade, It's source; He who played His uke as the old ship went down.)
He landed on shores Liliputian, Found lots of wee fellows all rooshin', One big little girlie, With hair long and curly, Barged through, 'spite cries "Stop Lily pooshin'."
He told them, "I'm Gulliver, Lemmy. And though, as you sees, I am semi- Literate, guys, Because of my size, I'm semi-god,(or is that demi?"
He came on like old Sonny Liston: "I'll smash all that I lay my fist on, Your future is dimmin', I'll have all your women, And all of you blokes will get pissed on."
Angels on head of a pin? Well Gulliver, man full of sin, Would get those gals dance On the end of his lance, But food's short, he's growing quite thin.
He wants, too, a real proper shag, The tiny tit tickling does flag, So in hopes he will cope, He gropes for his soap And floats off to old Brobdingnag.
The giants here he don't find funny, (Nor I, 'cos that name isn't punny,) And he almost dies, When to his surprise, Some gal stuffs him right up her cunny.
(Now don't say that I've overstated, You thing that such stuff is X-rated? That last I did lift Without change from J. Swift, In Gulliver, unexpurgated.)
Well, how he got home I don't know. I'm bored with the fellow, and so, I told him he's crackers, Kicked him in the knackers, And robbed him of all of his dough.
If you can bear it, you'll find
Last updated: Mon, 27 Nov 2000.